Resurgence
by Himitsu-no-Paradise
Summary: The Reapers are gone. The galaxy is safe. But sometimes, things are much bigger than they appear. (Crossover. BroShep/Tali'zorah; Blackfrost)
1. Chapter One: Retrieval and Recovery

Prologue: Retrieval

* * *

 _The Reaper Invasion is over. The Reapers are dead. Earth has begun to rebuild. Life seems to be returning to normal. The Mass relays are being fixed. All of the organic civilizations are working to start anew._

 _The wreckage of the Citadel that has fallen to Earth is being picked through, salvaged and searched,,_

 _No survivors are expected._

 _But Anderson said it himself._ **He** _has already died once, and it didn't stop him._

 _It should surprise them when they find his badly burned body still breathing, shallowly, from under the wreckage._

 _It_ **should** _. But it doesn't..._

" _Hold on!" one's echoing voice calls. There's darkness. He can't see, but he can hear, as if through a long tunnel, but he_ **can** _hear them, crying, crying, "Hold on, Commander! Hold on!"_

 _ **I am Commander Shepard...and...and...**_

~END TRANSMISSION~

* * *

Chapter One: Recovery

* * *

 _Two Days Later_

* * *

Hannah Shepard sighed as she paced the waiting room floor of the hospital. She was glad to know there were still some major medical facilities still standing after the devastation of the Reaper Invasion. It was a small hospital in a remote city in the USA, but it had doctors, technicians and necessary medicine and equipment.

She was even gladder when the call came in that they had found her son—breathing, alive. Barely, but alive. He was being flown in from London, where he'd been found beneath the Citadel wreckage. And she was waiting. Waiting to see him—to see how bad it was. Mass relays and synthetic life could always be fixed. But sometimes, organic life could not.

He was alive now. But for how long?

The doors swung open, suddenly, as a gurney was pushed through the white-washed halls, and Hannah's eyes followed it. She heard a few of the EMTs talking quickly.

"Commander Simon Shepard, age 32, Alliance Navy. Crash-landed to Earth aboard the Citadel—covered head to toe in third degree burns, multiple lacerations—potential internal organ damage-!"

Hannah rushed toward the gurney, her red-gray hair cut short—also a Marine, through and through—but falling into her wide, blue eyes a little as she was paused by one of the nurses as the EMTs rolled the gurney toward the OR.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you can't go back there—they're taking that patient straight in for emergency surgery," the nurse said, gentle but firm.

"No, but that's my son! _That's my son_!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. You need to wait here," the nurse said again with the same tone as before—kind, but commanding. "We will let you know as soon as the surgery has concluded—please, sit down."

Hannah pushed her hair out of her eyes, finally, and slid into a seat finally. She swallowed down the sob that threatened to burst forth from her throat, blinking back hot tears. She had caught just a glimpse of him—her beloved son with his skin blackened and charred. Even if he survived, he would never be the same.

"Tamora," came the voice of one of the doctors, peeking his head out of the OR. Hannah looked up as the nurse from before made eye contact with the middle-aged man in the white coat. Her brows furrowed when he said: "Get Miranda Lawson down here. Immediately."

* * *

"How are you feeling, EDI?"

EDI glanced around the medical bay of the Normandy, frowning deeply as she looked at her hands, wiggling the silver fingers carefully, the color distorted into a metallic orange by the visor over her curious eyes. She looked up again at the young woman speaking, noting the auto-tuned sound of her voice through the mask she wore.

"Yes, Tali," she said, finally. "I am well."

Tali'zorah vas Normandy stood, adjusting the shawl around her mask a little and typing away at the computer at Dr. Chakwas' desk. She glanced over her shoulder at EDI. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Being in the cockpit with Jeff as he tried to get the Normandy and her crew to safety. Then...nothing."

Tali nodded. "And before that?"

EDI knew what Tali was fishing for—she wanted to make sure she was the same. After all, Cerberus had built her, and though Tali was quarian, and skilled with technology and advanced artificial intelligences, it was still possible to lose something, especially after such a hard shut down.

"All of my memory interfaces and most of my functionality have returned to 100% capacity, Tali," EDI replied. "The only function I am having trouble reconnecting with is my interfacing with the Normandy."

"Which is why the ship is still stuck, isn't it?" Tali asked as she plugged some hardwires into EDI, from some ports that she had exposed just under the back of her head, where the base of her skull met her neck. "Let me see if I can figure out why. But first I'm going to run some diagnostics on all of this primary unit's functions, and the state of your core processor-"

"My mind."

Tali sighed and nodded. "...yes, your mind, to make sure no kind of critical failure can still get triggered like before."

"Tali, are you only doing all of these meaningless tests to distract yourself from the almost inevitable perishing of Commander Shepard?" EDI asked, which, to anyone else, might have been proof that she was back to normal, as she had never had, and probably never would have, a filter on her questions and curiosity.

But Tali only paused in her typing, and leaned heavily against the desk, her back hunching, her head now low to her chest. She took a few deep breaths. "...Shepard would want us to get his ship up and running again," she said, her voice tight and sharp. "...Alive or not."

"I have upset you as is evident by the curt tone of your voice. I did not mean to. It only seemed like the most obvious conclusion that one who was so deeply in love might try to distract oneself from the pain of loss. Perhaps I still do not understand emotions well enough yet to make such judgments, though."

Tali shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest as she turned and leaned her bottom against the edge of the desk now. She looked at EDI, and, though hidden from the AI, she smiled sadly under her mask. "No. You understand us too well, sometimes, I think. Yes, maybe that's part of it. Maybe I...want to think about the present so I don't have to think about the past—or the future."

"You were counting on spending your life with the Commander."

Tali nodded—silent.

EDI noted something else in Tali's demeanor—a heaviness. She was carrying something—something she was unsure she should share.

"Tali," EDI began. "...there is something else. Please, do not feel obligated to hide it from me."

Tali shrugged. "Joker's been like me—distracting himself, trying to get the ship started without you. He's been worried. And...angry." She sighed, massaging her helmet with her hand and shaking her head again, her shawl shifting as she did. "He blames Shepard for you shutting off."

"What? But Shepard was not even on board when the critical malfunction occurred."

Tali turned again, checking the graphs on the screen as they spoke, ensuring EDI was stable, and she let out a heavy breath. "We don't know what happened back on Earth. We're stranded here—wherever here is. But Joker said the Mass Relay gave out and dropped us here just as you shut off. And the ship shut off. And my suit...shut off, for a moment, until I fixed it. Everything synthetic, everything run or guided or connected somehow to technology just...stopped."

"You believe Shepard did something to synthetics—in order to defeat the Reapers."

"I didn't—until Joker mentioned it during one of his angry mumbling rants while he was trying to rewire the helmsman console as if he thought that was going to help." She sighed. "I had to ask Cortez to fix that."

"I still do not understand what that has to do with your undivided focus on fixing me."

Tali gave a small, slightly bitter chuckle and opened her omni-tool to download EDI's system diagnostics from the computer onto it—so she could check up on EDI in a more frequent, portable manner later on. "He blames the person I love for killing the person he loves. So...since the person I love is p...probably d-dead..." She choked back tears. "...I'm making amends for him."

EDI was unsure how, but she felt that deep within herself—the desperation, and the unconditional love. Tali'zorah was Shepard's perfect match, and vice versa. She could not imagine losing Jeff the same way—and yet she also understood Jeff's side for that very reason. She frowned, deeply, furrowing her metallic brows. "...you love Shepard in a very unique way. I have seen much physical intimacy and the shallow veils of love that organics offer, but it is very hollow, I have come to realize. And yet you, even in death, have his best interests within you. You give of yourself for his sake—is that what true love is?"

"Well, yes," Tali said, tilting her head curiously at EDI's questions. "Loving someone means sacrificing for them—doing for them before you do for yourself. Shepard loved people—all people, all sentient life. If he sacrificed himself...that was why. The least I can do is...everything I know he would do if he were here."

EDI nodded.

"Anyway, I'm done for now," Tali said, going around the back of EDI, and unplugging the hardwires. "Joker is probably wondering if you're alright, so I'd go see him first. In the meantime, I'm going to go look at the drive core and see if I can't jerry-rig it to start up manually without your intervention."

"It is possible, but even still, I will attempt to reintroduce the majority of my core processing power back into the Normandy's systems," EDI said. "If it will help you make amends."

Again, it couldn't be seen—never had been seen by any but one person—but Tali smiled and nodded. "Thank you, EDI, but also...please, try to focus on recovering."

* * *

 _Two weeks later_

* * *

"I am glad you preserved your Lazarus notes, Ms. Lawson," Hannah Shepard said to Miranda Lawson over a mediocre hospital cafeteria lunch a few weeks later. "You saved my son's life."

Miranda gave a small nod as she sipped the two day old black swill that the hospital staff had the nerve to call coffee. She glanced up from the styrofoam cup at the Commander's mother, and smiled, sadly. "It wasn't much, and with the rudimentary equipment they have here, it took some doing—but at least we were able to fix much of the blackened skin, and scarring—at least on his face. He was lucky that he barely had any internal injury."

"That is also due to you though—you fitted him with so many synthetic implants, the doctors say he was nearly unbreakable."

"His bones, maybe, considering the calcium-titanium compound I infused them with—but his organs were all his own. I mean, they were...regrown in a lab and replaced, but they were real, human organs, with a few modifications perhaps to his heart and lungs so he could work, run and fight longer and faster. They shouldn't have been in one piece after falling through atmo—again." She sighed. "Shepard is nothing if not...always lucky."

Hannah smiled, and touched Miranda's hand. "Your research, your time and effort—it saved my son. Again. You don't need to be modest."

"It's the least I could do!" Miranda said, suddenly, looking up and into Hannah's eyes—Shepard's eyes—with such earnest sincerity. "He saved my sister, Admiral Shepard. He saved the man I love—even if that man is with someone else. He saved _me_. That's what he does—he saves people, he cares about people, he inspires people. Don't get me wrong, he's human. He makes mistakes, but he owns up to them and that's what makes him a good leader! We can't afford to lose someone like him—I'd rebuild him a million times more if it meant keeping our home safe from things like the Reapers. It was my honor and duty, Admiral. Truly."

Hannah smiled and squeezed Miranda's now trembling hand, nodding. "It is much appreciated, Ms. Lawson. How long do you think he'll be comatose?"

Miranda took a deep breath and calmed, shaking her head. "Hard to say. It took two years for him to fully recover being completely overhauled. The skin procedure was intensive but not so wholly overtaxing. So...it could be anywhere between a few weeks to...potentially up to a year, I'd estimate."

"But you're confident he will wake up?"

Miranda nodded. "I have hope."

* * *

"At least the food here is edible for humans and dextros."

Tali looked up from her omi-tool at Garrus' words, as he and Kaiden scrounged the strange, tropical planet they were stranded on for edible foliage and berries. Grunt was out hunting for meat. By now, they knew what they should and shouldn't eat for the most part, but Tali still liked to scan everything they picked up for potential toxins or other problems.

"How do they look, Tali?" Kaiden asked about the leaves she finished scanning.

She shook her head. "No. Toxic. We should stick to what we know."

"It's running low," Garrus replied. "The berry bushes we found are going bare, and we have no idea what the cycle of seasons is like on this planet."

Tali sighed, and massaged her helmet before wringing her hands together with a shake of her head. "We need to find a way off of this planet before we run out of food."

"How's EDI?" Kaiden queried, closing his eyes and massaging his forehead, as he sat down under a tree nearby when his head began to throb—the shade helped.

"Better. But we still can't get her to communicate with the Normandy. She wants to—she tries. But she starts to overheat. I think it's a problem within the ship—not with her."

"Can we find it?" Garrus glanced at Tali out of the corner of his blue-on-black eyes, his arms crossed over his chest, his turian whiskers shifting a little as he spoke.

"I've been trying, Cortez has been trying, Adams has been trying. Even Joker has been trying but nothing seems out of the ordinary," Tali replied, and then closed her eyes tightly. "Shepard would know. He would know what is wrong with his ship; _he would know_!"

The shout startled both men, and then Garrus moved toward her, wrapping his arms around her as she began to hyperventilate in an attempt to keep from crying. "Hey, hey," he said, gently. "Calm down. It's okay—I know, Tali...I know. I miss him, too."

"We all do," Kaiden murmured, opening his eyes and sitting up a little, his legs, crossing his legs and placing his hands on his ankles as he watched the quarian try to calm. They all felt the loss of their friend, heavily. For Kaiden, it was like losing a brother—he knew Garrus felt very much the same.

The people on the Normandy were family.

And they'd just lost the essential cog in the clockwork of their familial relationship. The piece that had kept them all together, and happy even in the darkest times. It was a heavy burden for all of them, and Kaiden knew it was probably worse for Tali. He'd never loved someone as she loved Shepard—but he could only imagine it was like having his implant removed by force.

Like losing a limb—torn off, bleeding, refusing to heal.

"Tali," he said from under the tree. "Maybe you'll help me inside? I should go see Dr. Chakwas."

"Huh?" Tali said, the sound of wet tears in her voice.

"...Tali."

Garrus glanced at Kaiden, his brow arrowed into a deep 'v', when he realized Kaiden's plan and nodded. "Oh—oh yes, Tali, you know how dizzy Major Alenko gets when his implant starts to act up. You should help him inside. I'll scan the rest of these for you."

"I—um, alright," Tali said, and offered her hand to Kaiden, who took it gratefully, sliding a comforting arm around her and beginning their ascent up the ramp into the ship.

Garrus watched them with a sigh, and swiped the back of his hand over his brow, shaking his reptilian head a little. Stranded and mourning. How could they even go on?

 _'Come on, Vakarian,'_ he thought to himself. _'You know that bastard would want you to take care of everyone. Don't start giving up now.'_

* * *

"It has been two months, one week, and three days since Commander Simon Shepard of the Alliance Navy was recovered from the wreckage of the Citadel," Miranda said into her omni-tool as she paced Shepard's hospital room, checking his vitals and making notes along with her recordings. "Skin grafts seem to be healing successfully, though he will have intensive scarring still down his left arm, and over certain areas of his stomach, chest and back where grafts didn't take. Face is almost completely healed—no scarring leftover this time as with the first attempt. Improvements made to Lazarus research mostly successful."

Miranda stepped closer to the comatose Commander, and leaned in, inspecting the well-chiseled cheekbones, thin jaw, and brown-red facial hair that grew in an almost unruly manner. "Improved chemical make-up of bones from initial reconstruction kept skeleton completely intact during atmospheric reentry, and crash. Internal organs were mostly unharmed, except some slight bruising, and a single laceration on the right lung which involved surgical repair."

She looked at the heartbeat monitor positioned next to his bed. "Heartbeat is strong. Subject is likely to wake any day now given how well he is healing from these procedures. So, it's safe to say that again, Project Lazarus is-"

There was a sudden gasp of breath, blue eyes popping wide open, as disheveled hair of the same brown-red color fell into them, the cerulean irises glancing around frantically as the suddenly wide-awake Commander tried to register where he was, immediately noting the wires hooked up to him, as well as the breathing tubes in his nose and throat.

Miranda's own eyes were wide, and she stood there, frozen, her mouth agape as she watched him awaken, and begin to cognitively process his surroundings. Finally, in a breathy, shocked tone, she murmured:

"-a success."

* * *

 _ **I'm sure this is a no brainer to any Mass Effect fan but the Shepard in this story is based off of my own Shepard from the game, not the stock Shepard. My description of him will become more detailed as the story goes on and I'll try to include a picture of him as the story cover eventually. Thank you. God bless.**_

" _Pursue righteousness, faith, love, peace with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart." 2 Timothy 2:22_

 _Please review._


	2. Chapter Two: Reinstated and Revival

Chapter Two: Part One – Reinstated

* * *

"It's been three months, and eleven days since Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy, was recovered from the Citadel wreckage. As it stands, he is awake, and his vitals are strong. He grows more restless by the day, insisting we let him get out of bed and walk around unsupervised. Many of his still present burns have not yet healed completely, though, but we're hopeful they will with minimal scarring..."

Miranda looked up from her omni-tool when she heard a huff across the room. She smirked at the Commander when his blue eyes glared a little at her cataloging his progress while he was still in the room and very much within earshot. She stepped toward him. "Good morning, sunshine. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a mako—why are you doing that in my hospital room?" Shepard groaned, struggling to sit up as the intense burning on his chest and arm flared when the skin was disturbed by his movement.

"I need to keep detailed records of your recovery," Miranda replied, looking at his medical history datapad. "You've been conscious for over a month but you're still feeling the effects of entering planet atmosphere and crash landing. 'Hit by a mako'..." She typed that into her omni-tool and grinned. "Good."

"Glad my suffering is good for your research, Miranda," Shepard half-teased as he laid back against his pillows and closed his eyes. "...any word on the Normandy?"

Miranda's demeanor immediately darkened, saddened. "No, Commander."

Shepard released a long, slow breath. "Miranda, are they dead?"

"I don't know, Commander."

The automatic door slid open, and Hannah entered the room, drawing the eyes of both of it's occupants. She smiled as she set a bag down on the table next to his bed, and then began to change the dead flowers out of the vase with the fresh ones in her hands.

Shepard lifted his head, glanced at the flowers, and then looked at the bag. "What's that?"

"Onion rings. I know you've been craving them—but don't tell the doctors," Hannah said with a smirk. "Though, as an Alliance Rear Admiral whose son nearly died, I doubt anyone would deny me anything right now."

Shepard sat up once more, wincing a little at the pull and tug on his wounded skin again, and picked up the bag, uncurling the top and laughing a little, his gaze sliding to his mother. "Thanks, Mom."

"I don't recommend you eat that, Shepard, while you're still-" Miranda began, but both Shepards gave her the stink-eye. She sighed and rolled her eyes skyward, before waving her hand dismissively. "Fine. Fine. Don't listen to reason—you're as stubborn as ever."

"I win wars because I'm stubborn," Shepard replied, sliding one of the crunchy-coated vegetables into his mouth. Despite his injuries, and the fate of the Normandy unknown, it was a comfort to know they'd won—it as a comfort to know the Reapers were finally gone.

He'd made the right choice.

* * *

"It's been three months, two weeks and four days since Commander Shepard was recovered from the Citadel wreckage. All of his cognitive functions are still stable, and his physical functionality is returning. None of his implants are malfunctioning, and he's begun performing rigorous physical activity again-" Miranda recorded, glancing at the Commander, dressed in only sweatpants and sneakers, no shirt to be seen, as he did push-ups on the floor, ignoring the pain in his still unhealed burns. "-despite my recommendation that he not."

"Miranda," he huffed, pushing himself up, and then lowering himself, "believe me," Another, "when I say," Huff, huff, "that as soon as I'm released," he tucked his burned arm behind his back, doing it one-armed, trying to counteract the pain, "I'm going after the Normandy."

He finished his reps and pushed himself up onto his knees, wiping his brow with a towel. "Which means I need to get back into fighting shape. I don't know what I'll find when—or if—I find her. But laying in a hospital bed is never what any soldier wants to do when there's work to be done."

Miranda shook her head, a fews strands of black hair falling out of the loose bun she'd pulled the dark tendrils into. She crossed her arms over her chest and rested her weight on one leg, raising an eyebrow at him as he began to use the doorframe to do pull-ups.

"You're insane—you're going to tear open your burned skin and cause an infection," she argued, approaching him and looking up at him. "You're going to make it worse."

"Did you know," he began, taking calculated breaths between each pull-up, "I once," Breath, "beat James' Vega's record," Breath, "for most pull-ups in a single rep?"

"Stop deflecting, Shepard."

Shepard dropped from the doorframe and turned, his cerulean gaze now trained on her, earnestly. "Listen to me, Miranda—my ship and my crew are out there somewhere. Dead? Maybe. But if they are alive, I need to find them—I need to bring them home." He turned away from her, picking up a water bottle and taking a long drink, mopping his brow with his towel again.

"I understand, Shepard-"

"You should," he half-snapped, his neck whipping around to look at her, towel still in hand. "They're my family, Miranda, and you, of all people, should understand going to dangerous lengths to protect family. So, stop trying to coddle me—the last time you rebuilt me, your ass ended up waking me up too early and I did just fine—stopped the damned Collectors, even. I don't think trying to get myself back into shape is going to hurt anything this time around."

"That's the spirit!"

A new voice drew the attention of both of the room's occupants, as Admiral Steven Hackett entered the room in uniform, smirking at Shepard. "Commander Shepard—good to see you up and about."

"Admiral Hackett," Shepard said, saluting the commanding officer.

"Son, put a shirt on before you do that," Hackett joked, nodding to the Commander's state of undress considering what he had just been doing before Hackett's arrival.

Shepard chuckled and grabbed the t-shirt from the chair nearby that was emblazened with the Alliance military insignia. He pulled it on, gritting his teeth as he stretched the skin on his arm and chest, and chafed it against the fabric. "Ah..."

"Still healing, I see—good." Hackett nodded, pacing in front of the door, his eyes scanning the meager hospital room, noting the flowers on the nightstand that were always fresh. "Your mother comes often, hm?"

Shepard nodded, his eyes following Hackett's to the fresh, yellow blooms. "She does."

"I came only once—while you were still comatose. Asked Ms. Lawson about your status. Offered her a position as one of our chief science officers." Hackett slid his eyes toward the woman. "Still waiting for an answer on that one."

"And as I told you, Admiral, my place, as of now, is here, tending to the Commander," Miranda replied, sitting down in a chair opposite Shepard's bed, trying to offer her entire focus to her notes as she typed furiously away on her omni-tool, glimpsing the data-pad in her lap every now and then.

"Mmhm," the Admiral said, raising an eyebrow at her. "Most women react that way toward the Commander, I've heard."

"Oh, _no, no, no_ ," Miranda said, her eyes darting up from her work to look at the Admiral. "Admiral Hackett, I will, without hesitation, call Simon Shepard one of my dearest friends, my brother even, but _believe me_ when I say...that what you are implying is _not_ my intention for staying here! _Not a chance_."

"Gee, Miranda, could you sound more emphatic about that?" Shepard replied, smirking at her with a copper colored eyebrow raising high on his forehead, his arms sliding into each other across his chest.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Shepard, did I hurt your pride? Or would you rather I call up Tali'zorah and tell her you've changed your mind?" Miranda shot back—and then realized her mistake. "Oh..."

Shepard cleared his throat, his arms suddenly uncrossing, his large hands resting on his waist as he looked down at his feet. He closed his eyes and turned, going over to stand over the flowers his mother brought. Flowers.

He'd never given Tali flowers. He regretted that.

"Shepard, I'm sorry. I forgot."

Shepard shook his head, picking up a single yellow rose from out of the vase, staring at it for a long moment in silence, his brow furrowing. Then: "No. It's okay, Miranda. They're alive— _she's_ alive. And I'll find her."

He placed the flower back into it's place, and turned, sliding back onto the floor and beginning to do crunches with a new vigor, a fire in his sapphire orbs that Miranda could not deny. She'd never be able to stop him now.

"So," Shepard said, his breaths hard and focused, "what can I do for you, Admiral?"

Hackett slid his hands behind his back, clasping one hand over his wrist, his posture straight and militaristic as he circled the Commander, an eyebrow raised in a seemingly permanent spike. A small, smug smile appeared on his face before he reached into his elegant Admiral's uniform and pulled out a gleaming silver chain, tossing it to Shepard.

Despite himself, his reflexes kicked in and he jerked up, and caught the chain with his bad arm, causing him to strain both of the major parts of his body that were injured, which ripped a sharp gasp from out of his lungs. He shook off the pain, though, and looked down at chain—his dog tags.

He looked up at the Admiral. "I don't understand."

"Congratulations, Commander—welcome back to the Alliance. Officially."

"Sir?"

"Look, the Reapers may be gone but you're still the best soldier we have. We finally have peace—but the reason militaries exist is because peace never lasts. We need you," Hackett explained.

Shepard let his eyes trail to Miranda, his brow curved in a deep 'v' of hesitance.

Miranda shook her head. "Don't look at me—this is your choice, Shepard. Clearly, you're healing well. If you feel the need to reenlist...that's on you."

Pale fingers reached up and the Commander massaged his forehead, before shaking the strange insecurity away. "Alright, Admiral. But I have a condition."

"You want your first assignment to be the search and recovery of the Normandy?" Hackett replied with a smug expression, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know you well enough now, son, to know you don't work anywhere or on anything without your crew or your ship."

Shepard chuckled and nodded. "Right."

"Many of the relays are still severely damaged, Commander. But we've got repair, and reconnaisance teams working to fix them, and find leads on any and all Alliance, or Alliance allied, ships that went dark after the Crucible was fired. Any leads on the Normandy I will send directly to Ms. Lawson's tool for you to look over," Hackett offered, before moving toward the door. He trained his gaze on Miranda. "I expect a full report on his recovery, and your recommendation on when he can return to active duty."

With that, he saluted Shepard, who returned the respectful gesture, and left.

* * *

Chapter One: Part Two – Revival

* * *

"Admiral, did you talk to the Commander?"

Admiral Hackett looked at the Alliance scientist who spoke to him as he stepped out of the elevator of the secret underground Alliancefacility just on the outskirts of Vancouver—only a few miles from the mostly demolished Alliance headquarters there. It housed some of the most vital, and critical secrets of the Alliance. Only a few scientists and high ranking officials had known about the facility, which was fortunate—it was virtually untouched by the Reapers.

"Yes," he said, his hands tucked behind his back as he began to move down long, dark hallways with the scientist that spoke with him, each wall made of reinforced alloys with automated doors built into them, spaced several feet apart. Each door led into a room that housed a specific Alliance secret—schematics for specialized weapons, soldier enhancement programs. There was even a room that kept detailed records of Miranda's Lazarus project and Shepard.

But Hackett was on a mission, looking for a specific room, looking for the biggest, most well-kept secret the Alliance possessed.

At the end of the last turn, and longest hallway, he and the scientist stopped. He glanced at the man out of the corner of his gaze. "Have those unusual readings spiked again since the last time we spoke?"

"Yes, sir—it's almost recurring evenly now."

"And it isn't Reaper tech?"

"No, sir—it's...it's unsure. But it's similar to the spike that Dr. Foster found nearly 200 years ago. Even more similar to the spike recorded during the Battle of New York—but somewhat different."

Hackett shook his head. "Damn. Alright, open the door."

The scientist pulled the cord on his badge clip, allowing the card to slide out far enough that he could slide the magnetized strip against the orange holographic lock on the door. It beeped, dinged and turned green, and both men entered the room.

It was dark within the room at first, until they called up the lights. Suddenly illuminated, the room was revealed to be large and expansive, and circular, with bleacher-style floors that reached to the ceiling, each level having it's entire circumference lined with pods.

Cryogenic stasis pods, to be exact.

Hackett approached one of the ones on the bottom level, narrowing his eyes as he stared at the woman within. "Something is coming. Wake the initial team up."

"Admiral?" the scientist murmured, hesitantly.

"If this is anything like back then, we will need them," Hackett said. "Shepard is strong, but is always made stronger when his team is reinforced. Wake them up."

The scientist's frown was deep, and unsure, but he nodded and he unlocked a panel, beginning to type on it. There was a hiss and release of pressure as six pods released, and opened, immediately, the occupants beginning to thaw.

He looked at Admiral Hackett, still staring at the woman who was now breathing shallowly, her entire body wet with thawed cryo-liquid. She opened her eyes slowly, and stared back.

"Welcome back," Hackett began, "Agent Romanoff."

* * *

"So, how does it feel to have your body and career revived all in the course of a few months instead of two years?" Miranda asked, sitting at the small desk she had constructed in Shepard's room, finding work hard to do from just a chair and her lap. She was using a stylus to write things down on a datapad, trying to ignore the sound of Shepard chewing on his dinner. "Would you please eat with your mouth closed? Bloody hell."

"Sorry, Mom," Shepard replied, sardonic, as he placed his fork down in his salad and crossed his legs at the ankles.

"What, no onion rings today?" Miranda asked, her own tone tight and sarcastic.

"Do you think I did all those push-ups for no reason?" Shepard bit back, smirking.

"Cute," Miranda deadpanned. "Are you going to answer my question?"

Shepard was silent, and then he shrugged. "I don't know, Miranda. What do you want me to say? It doesn't feel like anything has been revived. As far as I know, you're the only person from my former crew who's..." He shook his head. "It feels more like an ending than a beginning."

Miranda's lips turned downward, her countenance growing somber, but her eyes full of hope. "We'll find them, Shepard. And wherever they are out there...I'm sure they're just as worried about you."

He scratched at one of his chiseled cheekbones, and leaned back heavily against his propped pillows, pursing his lips. He glanced at the flowers on his nightstand, and imagined his cabin back on the Normandy. "I don't even have her picture."

Miranda looked bewildered for a moment, before understanding settled upon her mind. "...we're going to find her, Shepard. We're going to find Tali."

Shepard's eyebrows twitched upward in bitter uncertainty, before he shook the feeling away and nodded. "Yeah. Alright. You're right. Just..." He shook his head again, pressing his palms over his eyes. "I never told her."

"Told her what, Shepard?"

"On Rannoch, she told me she loved me. 'Keelah selai'. That was my reply. I didn't say it back, Miranda. I never told her," he growled, massaging the bridge of his nose. "What if-"

"- _don't_. Don't. You said it yourself: They're alive. And you have _never_ been the one to doubt or lose hope. Don't you _dare_ start now."

Shepard sighed deeply, his chest rising and falling with the gesture, and his head bobbled again in a small nod. "You're right. Thank you, Miranda. I need to focus on getting well so that I can get back to work—so that I have the strength to find the Normandy."

* * *

"Dammit! You stupid bosh'tet!" Tali snapped as she dropped down from a hatch on the bottom hull of the Normandy, onto the sand beneath her. Garrus was sitting, cross-legged, on the ground, calibrating his sniper rifle when he looked over at her, raising the brow muscle where an eyebrow might be.

"Uh, everything okay?"

"I was just checking some of the components that run through the ship's underbelly up to the drive core—I didn't find any problems that could stop the ship from working, but I did find an exposed electrical component. Apparently, there was still a small current going through it." She stuck her burned finger in her mouth. "Dammit."

"So, still no luck with whatever is keeping it from powering up?" Garrus asked as he stood, clicking the rifle into it's holster on the back of his armor.

"No," Tali murmured, gently. "It's almost like...like she's given up, too."

Garrus's turian whiskers turned downward in a sad frown. "...have you given up, Tali?"

"I don't know!" Tali said. "...I don't know. I'm so lost without Shepard here—he was our leader, he always knew what needed to be done next and-"

"And he always relied on the wise council of his team—he didn't have all the ideas, Tali. But he knew who to trust," Garrus assured. "He would've trusted that you, one of the best tech specialists and engineers in the galaxy, could find the problem with the Normandy. He would've trusted that you could fix his ship."

Four long, gloved fingers wrung together as Tali digested Garrus' words. The strange planet's sun was beginning to set, though all she ever saw were shades of purple through her visor. She tilted her head, a gentle nod, after a few long moments. "Okay. I will keep looking. Now that EDI is getting back to normal, the process should...go faster."

She turned to go up the main ramp and back into the ship.

"Tali," Garrus called, grabbing her arm with gentle firmness. "Do you _want_ to go back?"

The quarian's shoulders sagged, and her helmet dipped low. "...is it selfish of me to say no?"

"I don't know—why don't you want to?"

"You know why."

Garrus closed his eyes, a gentle, exasperated breath sliding out of his nose. "Tali...we can't live in ignorance forever. Whether he's alive...or dead...we have to go back. There are other people on this ship. People with families—families who need them, especially after the devastation of war. _Including_ you. Your planet needs you—you're people are rebuilding."

"I just don't want to find out...I don't..." Her visor began to fog up—she was clearly fighting back tears behind the purple glass. "Simon..."

"Wow, okay, that was weird," Garrus said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "How often do you actually call him by his first name?"

"Well, usually only-"

" _Nevermind,_ " Garrus interrupted, emphatically. "Nevermind."

Tali shrugged, massaging the bicep of her left arm with her right hand as she glanced away from him. "It slipped out. I'm sorry."

"No...no, it's okay. I understand," Garrus murmured, touching her back in a friendly, reassuring manner. "Come on—lets go inside. You're probably overtaxed. You need to eat and rest—you've been working non-stop."

Tali nodded, and watched as Garrus climbed the ramp into the ship. She moved to follow, walking halfway up the metal ascension before pausing and turning to look out at her own, personal sunset, painted in hues of purple, reminding her of the twist and swirl of stars in a galactic stream, and whispered:

"I'll bring her home, Simon...wait for me."

And then she entered the ship, and closed the ramp.

* * *

" _Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need." Hebrews 4:16_

 _Please review._


	3. Chapter Three: Recruited

Chapter Four: Recruited

* * *

"Four months and six days—are you certain you feel well enough to return to active duty, Commander Shepard?" Dr. Antonelli—Alliance surgeon, and Shepard's primary physician during his months in the hospital—questioned as he looked at his datapad, perusing the Commander's medical history and recovery progress.

"I feel great, doctor. My chest and arm still ache, but not to the degree that I can't perform the regular duties my office requires," Shepard replied, pulling his N7 hoodie on and zipping it up. He shoved his large hands into the pockets, his eyes following the doctor as he circled him, stopping behind him and pressing the stethoscope to his back.

"Deep breath."

The commander rolled his eyes, but took a deep breath.

"Good—good, it sounds good." He stood in front of him and put two fingers up. "Follow them with your eyes." He moved them left—and Shepard's eyes followed. Then, right. Still, they followed. "Good. Good. Well, you seem fine, and according to Ms. Lawson's report, you're...functioning at almost your peak capacity. I can't see a reason not to release you back to active duty, Commander."

Antonelli looked at Miranda as she leaned again a wall in the corner, smirking at Shepard, having seen all his eye-rolling and unyielding expressions. He gestured toward her. "Well, Ms. Lawson, you're free to take him."

"Thank you, doctor. And Admiral Shepard also appreciates all you've done and asked I give you this," Miranda said, offering him a box with a very expensive fountain pen within. "A gift for helping save her son."

"This is...very generous. Tell your mother I said thank you, Commander."

Shepard chuckled and lowered his head, shaking it in amusement. "Sure, Doc. I'll tell her the next time I talk to her." He craned his sculpted features toward Miranda. "What, now?"

Miranda held out his omni-tool attachment to him, grinning. "Now, you're Commander Shepard again."

* * *

The Alliance shuttle pulled up to the half-rebuilt shell of Alliance headquarters. The door swung upwards to allow Shepard and Miranda a chance to exit. As soon as their feet hit the floor, Shepard felt the difference—dirt and cracked cement as opposed to smooth sidewalks. His expression dropped to the ground beneath his sneakers, and he frowned.

"Not everything has been rebuilt yet," Miranda said, noting his gaze.

"Not surprising—Vancouver was hit hard," he murmured in response, his eyes still trained on the cracked sidewalk beneath him.

"Commander! Commander!"

Shepard's eyes darted up to the young man racing toward him, dressed in Alliance blues, and tripping over his own feet. He paused, stumbling just a little in front of Shepard, and pushing his glasses up his nose. He looked twenty-five, at the oldest, with a freckled complexion and shoulder-length, disheveled, blonde hair. "Commander Shepard, I'm Corporal Spencer Bridges! I'm one of Admiral Hackett's chief science officers for his special projects division!"

Shepard's brow furrowed into an slightly beguiled expression, a small smirk dancing over his lips. "Corporal, you do realize Alliance Navy regulations state that hair must be kept cut above the shoulders and well-groomed at all times, hm?"

"Wha—oh, o-of course, sir! Sorry, I'm inside and in front of a computer so much, I just...forget," said the young man, blushing, his fingers now playing with the long strands and looking at them as if deducing the level of trouble he might be in based on the length of his hair. "Um, Admiral Hackett sent me to get you—he knew you'd come straight to Headquarters when he summoned you but we're actually meeting...elsewhere. There's another shuttle waiting around back."

Shepard blinked. "Um...okay. Is there a reason we aren't meeting here?"

"Well...you'll see. Come on-"

"Wait," Shepard said in a deep, firm voice—a commanding voice. "No. What's going on?"

"...well...it's really, really classified."

"'Really, really'. Is that official military jargon?" Miranda asked, crossing her arms over her ample bosom with a small upward tug of her lips. "Come on, Shepard, you trust everyone. I can't imagine you think this kid is lying to you."

"I do not _trust_ everyone—I just try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt," Shepard replied, sliding his hands into his hoodie pockets, and pursing his lips. "Should I give you the benefit of the doubt, Corporal?"

"Um, yes, sir?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Y-yes, sir!"

"Good. Let's go, then."

Miranda's smirk widened at how intimidated the young man suddenly seemed as he led the two of them around the back of the building toward a plain white painted shuttle—no Alliance insignias or coloration—and opened the door for them.

Shepard ducked his head as he climbed in, and offered a hand to Miranda to help her in. The door closed after Corporal Bridges climbed in, and he slid into the driver's seat. He pulled up the comm link and spoke: "Admiral, I have the Commander. We're on our way, sir."

" _Good. Keep it low and quiet. We'll see you soon, Corporal. Hackett out."_

"Corporal, what is this place?" Shepard asked as they descended in an elevator for what seemed like hours, but he was sure were actually several moments, only.

"ASPD," the young man replied, as he scanned the elevator for bugs or other defects with his omni-tool . "Alliance Secret Projects Division—or Special Projects Division. Whatever they feel like calling it on any given day. It's a classified sect of the Alliance that only a few scientists and high ranking Alliance officials know about."

"Does the Council know about this? The Spectres?"

"You need certain Alliance classifications to gain access to our intel. No outside influences."

"I thought Spectres were offered special classifications due to their being able to work outside Council and Alliance protocols," Shepard murmured.

"And if they knew about this place, we'd probably have to cooperate with them. But you're the only Spectre who's ever been here—and we hope to keep it that way," the Corporal murmured as the elevator finally paused within the lowermost area of the facility, and opened to allow them out. Bridges led them out and down dark, empty metal hallways, line with doors, secured with red and orange locks.

"This way," he said, as they turned a corner, mazing through the secret facility until they reached a hallway full of doors with green sensors—unlocked doors.

"This is our dormitory wing," Bridges said, and pointed to the room at the end of the hall. "And our mess hall. Hackett wants to meet you there. The door is unlocked."

"You're not coming?" Shepard asked, placing his hands on his hips and tilting his head at the young man.

"I have something to take care of." With that, he saluted Shepard, and turned, leaving the way they came.

"You know," Miranda said, pushing her fingers through his shiny black tendrils. "It shocks me they'd allow ex-Cerberus into this facility."

"You're my crew—Hackett knows better," Shepard murmured, and began to move toward the door at the end of the hall, his posture straight and broad—his militaristic demeanor back in full-force.

He pressed his hand against the green latch on the door, listening to the lock whir as the door slid open, suddenly. Inside, the mess hall was nearly empty, save for six unfamiliar bodies, and Hackett.

"Ah! Commander!" Hackett sat, standing from the table, and waving him and Miranda over. "Come. Sit down. We have a lot to talk about."

Shepard frowned, and paused when a man shaped similarly to him, dressed in a pair of trousers and a faded blue button-down, stood, his hair is dirty-blonde color, and combed and gelled sleekly to the side. Shepard could immediately tell by the way he carried himself that this man was a soldier, and he nodded.

"Commander, I'd like you to meet Captain Steve Rogers—U.S. Military," Hackett said, gesturing to the broad-shouldered man. "I believe in Mr. Moreau's vintage comic books, he was called 'Captain America'."

Shepard smirked and held out a hand to the Captain, chuckling. "Yeah. He was." His eyes met Steve's with a strength and determination of shared experience. "Commander Simon Shepard, Alliance Navy."

"Yeah, I've had the privilege of reading your file," Steve replied with a nod, before glancing at Hackett. "Can't say I'm pleased to have been frozen a second time and then woken up even _further_ into the future, though. Not that aliens are exactly brand new territory for us, either."

"I am not exactly an alien, Steven," came a new voice—from the largest of the group, a tall, muscled man wearing strange plated armor over his arms and chest, his hair a flowing main of light-blonde waves. He scratched at his scruff, and glanced at Shepard. "Though, I am not what humanity has always believed me to be either."

"Wait a minute," Miranda said, arms crossed over her ample bosom, as she began to circle the table the six of them sat at, examining each of their faces before her eyes widened. "Shit, Shepard, these are the-"

"Yeah, I figured it out, Miranda, thanks," Shepard said, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. "Admiral, I think we deserve an explanation."

"Look, Shepard—your ship, your crew, your _family_ , is out there, and if I know anything about you, its that you'll go to any lengths to save them—but you also work better with a damn good team backing you," Hackett said. "And you have everything here you would have with your original crew."

Hackett began to circle the table, and he pointed to Steve. "The soldier." His eyes slid to the the redheaded woman who sat, silently, her hands steepled in front of her, her eyes cold. "The infiltrator." He gestured at Thor. "The biotic." His hand fell on Bruce's shoulder and he smirked. "The krogan." He nodded his head toward Clint. "The sharpshooter."

Finally, he stopped just behind the infamous Tony Stark, who grinned and winked at Shepard. "And-"

"I have a tech specialist, Admiral," Shepard nearly snapped, having read the histories and dossiers of each of the legendary heroes when he was younger. "I'm not looking for a new one."

"Shepard, don't be unreasonable. If you want to save Tali'zorah, you need to-"

"No, don't try that," Shepard said, and looked at Steve. "What's going on? Tell me the truth."

Steve glanced at his his own team, and crossed his arms over his chest. "There was some sort of energy spike through one of your-" He looked at Tony. "What were they?"

"Mass relays. Too complicated to try to explain how they work to ya, Captain Colonies," Tony said with a sardonic shrug.

"Yeah, those. I guess one of them sparked or something," Steve said.

Shepard's brow creased in thought, pacing back and forth a few steps just behind the seat where the still silent members of the team sat. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about that. Ships surely were coming and going through the relays more frequently now that they were being repaired.

"Commander," Hackett said, finally, shaking his head, his gray hair shifting a little as he closed his eyes, making the scars on his face more prominent. "...the particular relay is the Omega 4. Nothing should be going through it. Especially since it was destroyed during the Crucible's blast—and we haven't made any attempts to repair it because it's a key Reaper relay. Something is, by some method, moving in and out of a dead relay."

"Of course," Shepard mumbled, and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Of course it is. But what the hell do you expect me to do about it with no ship?"

"We have a ship for you," Hackett said. "It isn't as streamlined as the Normandy but it will get you where you need to go. It will definitely get you through the-"

Miranda shook her head. "You know better, Admiral. You know he won't go through the Omega 4 without his crew. Not even the Illusive Man could get him anywhere near that relay without Garrus and Tali. Garrus was one of the first dossiers I was instructed to give him."

"Wait," Shepard said, sharply. "You _knew_ Garrus was Archangel?"

"No—but the Illusive Man had his suspicions." Miranda sighed, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry, Shepard. There was a lot he wouldn't tell you. That was his mistake—he's gone. You're not. You can count that as a win."

"Um...I'm a little lost...?" came a brand new voice, and all eyes shifted to Bruce Banner. "I'm sorry, Commander, I didn't read your file but...if this whole relay thing is as dangerous as it sounds, why are we suggesting only sending a team of eight in to investigate it?"

"We're not," Shepard replied, before snapping sharp blue eyes back onto Hackett, his muscled arms moving over his broad chest. "Because I'm getting my crew back before I investigate anything. You find out where the Normandy is, and I'll consider doing this—after I get my ship and crew back. Otherwise, you woke them up for nothing."

"Commander, you're-"

"The only one who can do this?" Shepard replied. "That's what everyone keeps telling me—Savior of the Citadel, first human Spectre, survived a suicide mission through the Omega 4 relay, came back from the dead—twice! You know what I've been, Admiral? Lucky. You want to know why? Because I've had a crew who's had my back." He craned his head on his thick neck to look at each of the Avengers. "No offense to any of you—I have a lot of respect for you and all you did in the past, but I don't _know_ any of you and so I can't trust you the way a working team should."

Shepard pointed, firmly, at Hackett. "You give me the resources and opportunity to find my ship and my people, and I'll fly into a black hole for you. But until then, I'm not just going to jump through your hoops. Not this time."

"Heimdall."

Eight pairs of eyes turned to look at Thor.

"What?" Shepard asked.

"The gatekeeper of Asgard," Thor said. "Heimdall. He sees all life in the Nine Realms. If he is still well in Asgard, I could return. I could ask him to locate your friends, Commander. He would most certainly be able to see them. I might also be able to ask my father for his council on this matter—if he has ever dealt with these relays or your 'Reapers' in his millenia of life."

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask," Miranda cut in, finally, after a long, long silence. "What about your lives? Your families, and friends? Why aren't the six of you more concerned that you were taken and frozen by the Alliance military?"

Hackett breathed out an exasperated sigh and gestured for the group of them to follow him. They trailed out of the dorms, and back into the halls. The shuffle and clack of their shoes against the metal floors resounded as they traveled, before Hackett pressed his hand and eye against a large door at the end of a dark hall. It beeped, and clicked, before sliding open with a _whoosh_.

It was the cryogenesis room—the one the six Avengers had been awoken from.

Lined with rows of pods, Hackett lit up the entire area. "The Avengers are not the only important figures that were deemed important enough to preserve."

Thor approached a pod, his eyes widening at the familiar face within, peacefully resting in cryo-sleep. "Jane."

"One of the foremost scientists in research of other star systems—something that started with finding you, and Asgard," Hackett explained.

Tony's hand pressed against a pod with another woman present—freckled, and strawberry blonde. His eyes softened in a way that Shepard understood, and he watched the man actually smile—a genuine, unselfish smile.

Shepard looked at Hackett.

"Virginia Potts—CEO of Stark Industries. A financial and business-minded genius," the Admiral replied. "We also house a majority of the X-Men here. And a few key members of SHIELD."

That caught the attention of the Black Widow, who's silent demeanor had been unsettling up until that point. Her blue eyes snapped toward Hackett, and finally, she spoke: "Who?"

Shepard's eyes fell on her, surprised to hear her vocalize, finally.

Hackett frowned. "Only three agents agreed to the terms of this-"

" _Who_?" snapped the Widow.

"Sharon Carter, Maria Hill...and Nicholas Fury."

Natasha looked at Clint, before climbing the stadium-style, circular rows of pods, searching. "We're waking Nick up. I want some answers. None of us agreed to having our friends and loved ones frozen; none of us-"

"Agent Romanoff, I'm sorry about your husband. He wasn't a viable option for this," Hackett explained. "He was a good agent—when he felt like it. He wanted to make you proud, to make his brother proud, but he was still erratic, and his history, and the mythos surrounding him suggested—"

" _Shut up_!" Natasha snapped, searching the pods.

"What's going on?" Shepard asked.

"Agent Romanoff, he assisted in the alien invasion and attack of Earth during the Battle of New York. He overthrew his father on Asgard. He was projected to be the catalyst leading to the Norse end of days. He was only working as an agent in SHIELD to try to atone for these transgressions-and to try to avoid them. But he wouldn't have even stayed with SHIELD if he hadn't fallen for you—he was volatile, stubborn and rebellious. His entire file was reviewed before this contingency was enacted. He wasn't a viable option—he was too dangerous."

Natasha searched each pod more desperately, having already found the three SHIELD agents, still holding out hope that she wasn't alone again. "Dammit, be here, be here," she whispered. "You sonuvabitch, you always let me down."

She turned and looked at Thor. " _He's not here_!"

Thor closed his eyes, and Bruce climbed up the stairs toward Natasha. He had lost her to said husband, but only at a point where they both had known they'd gotten all they could out of their short-lived relationship. But he still cared deeply for her, and to see her fall apart was rare. She had always been the kind of person who kept it together, even in the most desperate situations.

She was calm, and reasonable. In everything. Except when she had finally experienced real love. And it hadn't been Bruce.

Though, none of them expected who it _had_ been with.

As Bruce held her, feeling her tense in anger and fear, Miranda pivoted, glaring at Hackett.

"So, Cerberus wasn't the only secret branch of the Alliance, I take it?" she asked, hands placed firmly on her hips.

Hackett shook his head, pressing his aged hands against a forehead wrinkled by age and the stress of military life over the years. "Not exactly."

"Explain," Shepard said, his eyes still trained on Bruce and Natasha.

"SHIELD is not a branch of the Alliance," Hackett said. "...the Alliance is what SHIELD became."

All of the Avengers looked at him.

"This entire project was Fury's idea," Hackett said, going to the large computer in the center of the room and bringing up all the files and videos related to the cryogenesis with a few deft sweeps of his fingers over the holographic keyboard. "He knew that the potential for new systems and species being found was high. He also knew that meant new—and old—dangers could be uncovered. So, he put this entire contingency into place, even having it moved into Canada, knowing its enemies would be less likely to suspect if it were no longer dealing directly on American soil."

Hackett's eyes slid sideways, and he glanced at Shepard out of the corners of his gaze. "He founded the N7 program, but something must have gone wrong before he could launch it. He left us all of his files, which stated his first two candidates for the program: Captain Steve Rogers...and Agent Natalia Romanova. But both himself, and the entirety of the Avengers team were frozen before any of that came to fruition. Which means something went wrong."

"Well, whatever it was," Shepard said, throwing a hand up in frustration, "it disappeared or went into hiding or something. The world kept spinning, Admiral. We grew, we changed, we adapted. We survived, all the way up until the Reapers rained holy hell all over us. And maybe if we'd known more about this, we'd have been more prepared." He shook his head with a bitter laugh. "You—even you—were keeping resources from me and my people. Resources that could've ended this war sooner with _less casualities_!"

"The Avengers were too valuable to lose, Commander. I'm sorry."

Shepard's eyes widened, and he approached his commanding officer, getting within a hair's breath of his face, his blue eyes narrowing, dangerously. " _What_ did you just say to me? Because it sure sounded like you were implying that I, and my crew—my _family—_ were expendable. Is that what you _meant_ to imply, _sir_?"

The final word, the honorific, spewed from his lips like an insult, and Hackett took a step back, his own face pinched and angered.

"I didn't send you and your team because they were expendable, _Commander_. I sent them because they were _the best_ resource we had—the best chance for our survival as a united galaxy. Don't think for one second that I wouldn't have activated each of these pods if it was the only way to handle the Reapers but I _believed_ that you could accomplish it, Shepard—you and your team. And you did. _Never forget that_."

A scoffing 'ha' bubbled up from Miranda's throat, and she crooked her hip to the side a little, her hands still resting on the shapely curves. "Yes, and lets not forget he got spaced. Again. Or that his body was burned from head to toe. That he could've died. _Should_ have died. That his crew is out there somewhere, possibly dead. That his ship is missing. But no...we're not expendable, right? Ha."

"It seems to me, Admiral," Steve said, "that you didn't handle any of this the right way. I can tell you're a great leader in a lot of respects but not so much to the people standing in this room."

Hackett's head turned from right to left, and he found himself being stared down, eight pairs of eyes pointed at him like the barrels of sixteen loaded guns.

And for Shepard and Romanoff, those barrels were red hot, and smoking.

After several minutes of silence, Natasha broke away from Bruce and descended, her small, toned frame stepping with purpose directly in front of Hackett, her eyes narrowing to slits, her fists clenched.

"He's not here, Admiral," she hissed. "So I'm only going to ask once...and you're going to tell me the truth to the best of your ability, or you can bet this agent will revert to her Red Room training, where the idea of _authority_ gets a little _fluid._.."

It was silent in the room. No one spoke—tense.

"Where," she hissed in a dangerously low whisper, "is _Loki_?"

* * *

" _Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever." Hebrews 13:8_

 _Please review._


	4. Chapter Four: Resolve

Chapter Four: Resolve

* * *

" _Where is Loki?"_

The room was still, a pregnant silence filling it, the echo of the desperate, angry question still ringing in the ears of the occupants. Shepard's head was facing downward, his arms crossed tight across his broad chest, his eyes tilted toward Hackett with a raised eyebrow.

"Is this the same Loki who nearly destroyed New York in 2012?" he asked Hackett. "I didn't see anything in the histories about him being a SHIELD agent."

"It was off the record," Natasha responded before Hackett could speak, turning to the Commander. "Thor returned to Asgard and discovered he was posing as his father and ruling. Odin awoke from the Odinsleep, though—Loki didn't have the heart to harm his father—so he was found out. But when Odin found out that Loki had actually been ruling well, he didn't have it in him to imprison him again. So he sent him to us. Hoping he'd reform or something, I guess."

"It sounds like he did," Miranda observed, eyeing Shepard, who's shoulders twitched upward in a shrug.

"Sort of. He was still a real dick to everyone else," Natasha murmured, a sad smirk playing on her lips. "And his methods for getting things done—well, let's just say there was a reason he and I were teamed up a lot."

"Yeah, Agent Hot Lips really excelled in the moral ambiguity department," Tony murmured, staring earnestly into Pepper's pod, before turning and smirking at Natasha. "Mostly."

"Shut up, Stark."

"So, you got close," the N7 Commander inferred, unfurling his arms and placing his hands on his toned, tapered waist.

"Yes." Natasha pulled down the hem of the black v-neck she wore, before brushing her slender finger through her short, curly red strands, mussing them a little as she tried not to imagine what could have befallen Loki—or them. What had caused this contingency to be activated? Why hadn't Loki released her? What if the worst had happened? She grit her teeth, her fingers curling into a fist in her hair, yanking, as if trying to pull the tears that welled in her eyes back in.

There was a gentle shuffle of feet, and then a firm hand squeezed her shoulder. She craned her head on her neck to look over at the Commander.

"Believe me, Ms. Romanoff, I know exactly what you're going through right now," he murmured, his eyes earnest. "My girlfriend is out there somewhere—I don't know if she's dead or alive. It's hard, isn't it? Having to be strong when you're terrified."

Hackett's eyes closed in defeat and he shook his head.

"I think the Admiral's finally come to the realization that he's not going to get what he wants until we find the Normandy." Miranda nodded toward the Alliance officer, gesturing toward his subdued expression as she leaned back against the wall behind her, her eyes alight with sarcastic amusement at Hackett being outnumbered by the resolve of those around him.

"Asgard, first," Hackett said, which caused Thor, Natasha and Shepard to step toward him, surround him. His eyes darted to each one of them before a heavy sigh fell out of his mouth. "Fine. The three of you may go. The rest—I need you prepping for the mission ahead."

"Hold it," Tony snapped. "We've got a couple more terms. You need Shepard to do this Omega 4 thing, but he needs us to find his team, so..."

He pointed to Jane and Pepper. "Wake them up. And SHIELD, too."

Steve nodded, emphatically. "Yeah, we, like Shepard, have a very specific, well-oiled team and they're all part of it. Wake them up. You want us to prep for this mission, and to do it right? We need them. Wake them up."

Hackett dragged his wrist across his forehead, and shook his head. "You don't understand how tentative this entire project was. Waking them up unnecessarily—there's no guarantee I can put them back into cryosleep if-"

"This _is_ necessary," Bruce said, kind but firm. "Pepper will be able to tell us the last known locations of Tony's Iron Man suits, which he'll need, and Jane might be able to help you better understand the signals you're getting from the Omega 4 Relay—I've worked with her, she's a good astrophysicist. If anyone can figure out strange readings in star systems, it's her."

"And Fury needs to give us answers," Natasha snapped. "We deserve that."

"Alright, _alright_ ," Hackett barked, glaring at each of them, before his eyes fell on Shepard. "Commander, you're on thin ice. Don't forget I'm still your superior-" Shepard opened his mouth to argue, but Hackett continued, "-I know, I know—you saved me. You saved all of us. The Reapers are no longer a threat because of you and that's the _only_ reason I'm allowing any measure of insubordination from you. You've been through hell—and it is time the Alliance gave something back. Go to Asgard. Find your people. But when you get back here with the Normandy, I expect you to follow orders, soldier, _is that clear_?"

Shepard jerked his hand against his forehead in a solid salute. "Sir, yes, sir."

"Good. Get suited up."

* * *

"Mm, feels a little loose," Shepard said as he adjusted the plating on his armor, the N7 on the chestplate gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights of the facility.

"Well, you did look a little scrawnier when you left the hospital—not enough push-ups, I guess," Miranda replied with a smirk as she examined her heavy pistol for damage, clicking a thermal clip into it before checking her own biotic implant status on her omni-tool.

"Ha. Ha." Shepard mumbled as he snapped his Widow sniper into it's place on his backplate. He looked at Thor, who stood at the other end of the room, murmuring quietly to Natasha. He slid his eyes back to his semi-automatic weapon, checking the ammo, and barrel, before placing it on his back, murmuring, "Why did you talk Hackett into letting you come, Miranda?"

"Because you just left the hospital, and even though you're trying to hide it, you still wince a little when you move from your burns."

"You really think I need a babysitter?"

"No, Shepard," Miranda said, her tone gentle. "...I think you need a friend. Or at least someone to watch your back when Tali and Garrus aren't here to do it."

Shepard snorted, sharply, a bitter smirk on his lips. "Heh. Yeah." His face fell back into sad thoughtfulness, however, before he looked at her again, loading and positioning his own heavy pistol in his arsenal as he did. "Thanks, Miranda."

Miranda offered him an expression of friendly affection, and a nod.

"Are you both prepared to go?" came Thor's booming timbre rang as the tall, muscled god approached them. "I am unsure how well this is going to work if it has really been near two centuries since I have called Heimdall to aid me home."

Shepard prepared the last of his guns, and nodded, checking his omni-tool for power upgrades and special ammo. He nodded. "Alright, lets go."

Thor nodded. "Very well. Natasha," he said, turning to look at his sister-in-law. "are you ready?"

Natasha finished calibrating her Widow's Bite wristbands, and then examined the new Alliance-issued pistols she was given, raising an eyebrow as she aimed at Shepard and fired. She watched the man jerk away from the bullet, and she smirked.

"Fast reflexes, Commander—nice guns, too. Definitely more power and less overheat than the pistols we used two centuries ago."

"In the future, to keep our professional relationship in tact, don't shoot at me without warning, hm?" Shepard asked, as he stepped past her and out of the room.

Natasha's smirk widened as she followed him. "Yes, sir, Commander," she answered, a cynical bite in her voice.

"So, how will this Heimdall get us to Asgard? Do we have to meet him somewhere?" Shepard asked, ignoring the acerbic comment from the Black Widow, his eyes focused on Thor's scruff profile. "Is he picking us up in some sort of ship?"

"Not exactly," Thor said as they stepped out of the facility.

Hackett was standing next to a shuttle, and held out a set of keys. Miranda snatched them just as Shepard reached for them.

Shepard's head whipped around to look at her, forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What the hell, Miranda?"

"Like hell am I letting you drive. Tali's told me the stories about the Mako—and Garrus still wakes up in a cold sweat, screaming," Miranda replied. "He can handle being shot at by groups of mercenaries, but your driving gives him nightmares. That should tell you something."

Blue eyes rolled heavenward, and the N7 soldier shook his head. "Fine. Get the hell in."

Miranda smirked. "Aw, did I hurt your pride?" She threw the keys up, listening to them jangle before catching them as she slid into car.

Thor followed her, his blonde brow sliding up slowly as Shepard. "Is your operation of this vehicle really so abhorrent? I was under the impression you were good at everything."

The deadpan expression that Shepard offered the Norse deity could've frozen Muspelheim. "...I don't want to talk about it."

Miranda lips turned upward a little at Shepard from the rearview mirror when they were all inside, and seated in the plush leather chairs. "Buckle up, Commander. I'd hate to give you nightmares."

"Just _drive_ , Miranda."

The ex-Cerberus agent chuckled, and started the car.

"Thor, why are we in the middle of nowhere?" Shepard asked after a forty-five minute drive through windy mountains into an empty clearing full of tall, green grass, and surrounded by trees.

"You will see, Commander," Thor said. "But I must ask you come and stand next to me." He gestured to Natasha, who stood only inches from him.

Shepard scratched his cheek, and rubbed his chin, an eyebrow jutting upward in uncertainty, before he gave a hesitant nod, and looked at Miranda, jerking his head toward the Aesir.

With a shuffle of armored boots in dirt, they moved close to Thor's person and stood.

Thor's blue eyes slid skyward. "Heimdall! If you can hear me, open the Bifrost!"

He hoped, after two hundred years, that Heimdall was still gatekeeper.

There as a long pause—silent, tense—before Shepard gasped and Miranda's eyes widened as a sea of prismatic light rained down upon them in a cylinder of strange magic, and both of the humans felt their stomachs jerk as they were pulled away from Earth, and thrust onto the golden floors of the Asgardian observatory.

Standing next to a gleaming sword and an intricate lock system stood a tall, broad, dark-complected man with eyes a shining amber, glowing like the sunshine star of the Sol system.

Miranda's lips spread in a wide grin as her eyebrows hiked high on her forehead. "Well, well, hel _lo_ , and nice to meet _you_."

Shepard glanced her, his eyes alight with amusement. "First Jacob, now this guy? Have you got a thing for-"

"Don't go there, Commander—your girlfriend is a quarian," Miranda replied with a smirk.

Shepard put his hands up in defeat, chuckling. "No judgment. Just an observation."

"Heimdall, it is good to see you well, my friend," Thor said, ignoring the strange banter between his two new companions, as he approached the watchful gatekeeper of his home.

"I know why you come, but the king is insistent that you speak with him, immediately. He has forbidden me from offering my help until you do so," Heimdall said, his voice low and level—as always.

Thor frowned. He imagined that two centuries of silence from him and his compatriots had likely made his father wary. He didn't approve of the orders given Heimdall, but he understood the caution. Offering Heimdall a firm nod, he waved his companions on, gesturing for them to follow him down the long stretch of prismic road before them.

As they stepped out onto the road, Shepard began to examine his surroundings. The palace was the first thing he noticed—as anyone might—with its high reaching spires, and glimmering cold color. It shone off of the seas of surrounding water, as did the trees and mountain ranges. What struck him though was how the endless lakes fell off into cascading waterfalls that seemed to go on forever, and yet go no where at all.

"Where do the waterfalls go?" he asked, unable to contain his own curiosity.

Thor simply smirked and shook his head as he led them quickly down the road toward the towering golden towers of the palace.

Upon entering, however, Shepard paused the three of them when he heard a familiar groan, which caused his stomach to lurch and his blood to curdle.

Coming around the corner into the main hall, six Husks dragged their crackled, black-and-blue flesh toward them, and Shepard whipped out his heavy pistol, cocking it.

"Shit," Miranda hissed as she began to glow with biotic power. "Shepard, what the hell are they doing here?! What's going on?!"

Her sudden outburst drew the attention of the technologically mutilated carcasses and they began to rush them. Shepard dove behind a tall, gleaming pillar, and began to fire at them, watching them burst apart. "Fire at them!" he cried to Natasha and Thor, and watched as Thor blasted them apart with snaps of lightning.

"Shepard! Abominations!" Miranda shouted from her placed behind a pillar opposite him.

"What the hell is going on, Thor?!" Shepard cried, using his Widow to take the new enemies out, as they moved slower than the Husks. He slammed the butt of his gun into one of the Husks when the creature reached him behind his cover and began to tear at his armor.

Thor shook his head and sent an enormous surge of energy through the rest of the enemies before growling, "Move forward! Take the next left and head through the large doors! That is the throne room! Natasha, go with them! I will hold anymore enemies off just behind you!"

"Alright, on my mark!" Shepard shouted, and then: "GO!"

He rushed, diving through any other enemies that rushed them, thrusting his body weight into his strikes when he shoved the end of his gun into the heads of more Husks, blasting any Abominations and Marauders away that came after them. He looked above him when bolts of white lightning bounced off of the gold fixtures and burned away any other enemies as they rounded the corner and Shepard shoved his shoulder into the intricately carved doors at the end of the hall, skidding to a stop within the throne room.

Shepard kept his gun pointed in front of him, and Miranda began to scan the room with her omni-tool.

"That isn't necessary," came Natasha's voice suddenly as she pushed Miranda's holographically wrapped arm down, approaching the throne.

Shepard and Miranda followed her, and then paused when they saw what she saw.

There was a man on the throne, shadowed by the darkness of the room, surrounded by Reaper minions being held at bay by magic of some sort. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, the only clear marker in the shadow of the large space. He stood, stepping into the light a little, revealing his pale, angular face, and long, long black hair, braided loosely. Fixed on his face was a device of some sort—metallic and buzzing, wrapping just around his right eyesocket and embedded in his skin, causing one of his eyes to be blue and mechanical-looking, and the skin around that eye to be runed and blue—Jotun.

The other was a bright green.

The leathers that he wore, that Natasha recognized were usually tones of blacks, golds and greens, were the same shock-neon blue and black as the Husks, except the man appeared to move and think on his own as he sat up at their arrival, his indoctrinated eye glaring, the green one furrowed _almost_ sadly.

He had Odin's staff in his hand. The other glowed with bluish-green magic—the magic that was clearly holding off the Reaper scouts. He began to pace in front of the throne, chuckling, the sound bitter, angry, sad, malevolent. "I knew you would come."

Miranda and Shepard kept their guns raised, unmoving. Thor stood to the back, shocked.

But Natasha moved forward, a silver knotted ring gleaming on her left ring finger that glowed a dull green as she moved closer to the man.

A similar ring on his left hand glowed in response.

His laughing became louder, more sinister, more desperate. His green eye became glassy with unshed tears. His blue eye angered further—the spell on the Husks loosening a bit, causing them to moan and grasp at the air, still unable to move forward.

Natasha paused in front of the man, and reached out. The man's laughing was out of control now, as tears raced down the left side of his face.

"What's going on?" Miranda whispered, twisting her head back and forth to look between Shepard and Thor as the Asgardian stepped closer to them.

Shepard was beginning to put the pieces together.

Thor shook his head, his brow wrinkled sadly, before he closed his eyes, his hands fisting. "It is...he is..."

Natasha swallowed, and breathed:

"Loki."

* * *

" _Let it be the hidden person of the heart with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit which is very precious in the sight of God." 1 Peter 3:4_

 _Please review._


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